Out of the Blue (7 page)

"Do you miss them when you're working?" she asked.

"When I'm working I don't have time to miss them. It's only now, when I'm
off,
that I think too much. I can't believe how many years have passed since I've been in Avila."

"Your work is important to you." She gave him a small smile. "And I don't really know much about it."

"I've been doing undercover work." It was his standard, nondescript line. But it wasn't enough for her, and he suddenly didn't want it to be. So for the first time, he expanded on it. "Working on a drug ring in Los Angeles."

"Did you haul them all off to jail?"

"It took a year, but yes, we got them all."

"Good. You're going back into that world soon."

"Yes." He
was
going back. Couldn't wait to be going back.

"It's dangerous," she said quietly, her gaze moving down, landing on his injured side. "Your world."

Suddenly going back was the last thing he wanted to talk about. And just as suddenly, the thought of doing it all over again, becoming someone else, losing another year of his life, maybe two, made him yearn for something … more.

Which made no sense.

He loved L.A. He loved being a cop. He really did, but he realized he didn't love the way it consumed him. The way it made him feel as though the real Zach didn't exist.

And not for the first time, he considered his devotion to the department, and what it was doing to his own personal life.

It was killing it.

There had to be a better way, a way to have both a life and the job, but he couldn't imagine what that was.

That was fatigue talking, he figured.

"Isn't it?" she pressed, waiting for an answer. "Dangerous?"

"I'm careful," he said finally.

She snorted. "How careful can you be against a punk with a gun?"

"You
worry about me," he said with some surprise.

"I worry about lots of things. I worry about the stray cat we have, I worry that the guests won't have enough towels, I worry that—"

"You worry about
me."

She went still, then smiled. "Yes. I can't seem to help it. The worrying. Alexi starts it, and then it becomes contagious."

"I love my job, Hannah."

"I know."

He had to shake his head. "We can go on about
this and
get nowhere. It isn't what I want to know."

"No?"

"No."

Her face went guarded.

"We need to discuss it, Hannah. Last night." He didn't want to, he really didn't. "I won't be able to think about anything else until we do," he admitted.

That brought a new light to her expression. "Really?"

"Did you think I could just forget?" Before she could give him any answers, the door to the shop opened. Karrie came back in, craning her neck with curiosity. "Break's over," she called out. "Here I come, ready or not." Hannah blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and shot him a frustrated look. "The timing in my life, in case you hadn't noticed, is really,
really
off."

The strand of silky hair slipped back over her eye, and without thinking about it, or their audience, he gently tugged it back.

She went absolutely still as once again a simple touch seemed to rock both of their worlds. And this time, at least for him, it had nothing to do with the way she filled out her sundress, which happened to be incredible.

It had everything to do with Hannah the person. "We really need to talk," he said quietly.

She bit on her lower lip, but nodded. "I only have a few hours of work to do around here. Some inventory stuff. Then … I'm free for a little while."

Walk away. Don't get involved.
And yet, he stroked a finger down past her ear, delighting in the shiver that wracked her. "You feel so soft." His thumb brushed her jaw and she let out a soft sigh.

It thrilled and terrified him at the same time, so he pulled back.

She smiled, a bit uncertainly, tugging at his heartstrings yet again, and he found himself returning the smile.

For reasons he didn't come close to understanding, he shifted forward again, meaning only to kiss her cheek once before he left. Except she shifted at the same time, turning her face toward his.

And their lips met.

It was brief, but so warm and innocent. So incredibly right, and filled with unbearable yearning.

Slowly, he straightened.

They stared at each other.

Zach had no idea what it meant, but given her doe-caught-in-the-headlights look, Hannah didn't know, any more than he did. It was the sort of kiss he wasn't likely to forget.

He doubted she would, either.

Chapter 7

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T
he lodge was busy. Summer was in full swing, and as a result, it was more than a few hours before Hannah managed to come up for air.

It hadn't helped that Karrie came down with some sort of flu, turning the same shade of green as her hair, which left Hannah facing the dessert crowd by herself.

It happened to be her specialty, mostly because she loved to eat it. On a normal day, she would have enjoyed serving, enjoyed chatting. She loved to talk to their visitors, learning about them and where they came from.

But today wasn't normal.

Today she had something to do when she was finished, something that wasn't just another chore or more work. Today she had Zach waiting for her, waiting for answers, maybe waiting for more than answers, which is what she'd wanted.

But the reality of it so unnerved her she ate two ice-cream sandwiches.

She had to remember, no matter what happened, that this was just a temporary interlude for Zach, one he'd probably remember with fondness as he went back to his adventurous, exciting life, but he
would
go back.

As if she'd summoned him, he appeared outside the window of the shop, carrying a surfboard and heading toward the beach.

She didn't let herself appease her curiosity by plastering her nose to the full picture window on the side of the shop that faced the beach.

Much.

Near the water, he stripped off his sweatshirt, then his pants, too, leaving him in nothing but swim trunks that clung to his body like a glove.

Had he said he was out of shape? she wondered, pressed up against the window. Not possible, not with that powerful, sleek build. Clearly favoring his right side, he waded into the water and put the board to good use.

"Who are you watching?"

Hannah bumped her nose on the glass. "Nobody. Nothing," she said, turning as casually as she could to face Tara.

"Uh-huh." Tara grabbed a bowl and helped herself to a triple scoop of Fudge Ripple. "Which is why, of course, you're blushing."

Hannah cursed her fair skin as Tara proceeded to top her dessert with whipped cream. "I always blush."

"It's a good thing, too." Tara paused to moan sinfully as she took her first bite. "Otherwise, how would Alexi and I ever know what's up with you?"

"I tell you what's going on with me."

"The surface stuff maybe, but not the
good
stuff."

"Such as?"

"Such as why you're watching Zach surf while pretending not to."

"Oh.
That."

"Would it have anything to do with the curious call I just took from Michael?"

Dammit. "That depends."

"On what? On how badly you freaked him out?"

"That bad, huh?"

"I just barely convinced him not to drop everything so he could come out here and kick
'some stupid jerk's ass'."

"Oh boy." Hannah let out a disparaging laugh, sank to a chair and looked at Tara helplessly. "You did talk him out of it, right?"

"Yep. Told him I had things under control. Told him Alexi and
I
would kick any butt that needed kicking. Which means you owe me now. So sing. What's up?"

"Look, I know I've been acting a little strange—"

"A little?"

"But I'm not ready to talk about it."

"You talked to Michael about it."

"Yeah, well. I have a new tactic." She'd figured out it was an individual thing. She had to do this by herself. "And if I'm looking out the window a lot, it's because I'm thinking of what I'm going to change in the garden."

"Right. That explains the dreamy look you had in your eyes.
Flowers.
Silly me, thinking it was that tall, gorgeous cop out there in the water."

"Tara—"

"Honey, look." She set down her ice cream and went serious. "I know you have this misguided thing that because you don't have any money, you think you have to work harder than Alexi or me, but quite honestly, that's a bunch of bologna. Okay? We're all equals, and we help each other. We love each other. So when I see you today, smiling like an idiot, offering a beautiful man a condom instead of coffee, then gazing out the window lost in a daydream, it thrills me. Don't ruin it for me."

Hannah didn't know what to say to that.

"So … what happened last night between you and Zach that's got you acting like a jumping bean? Or should I just guess?"

"No!" Stalling now, Hannah opened the industrial refrigerator and gazed at her stock, eyeing the two huge strawberry pies she'd planned to give to Alexi for the restaurant. Scooping them up, one in each hand, she turned back to Tara. "I'm sorry. I love you, too. With all my heart. But this is something I have to figure out for myself."

"So no more midnight calls to New
York?"

"I think I have it handled."

"I'm sure your brother will be happy to know that the birds-and-bees talks are over."

Hannah worked at keeping her expression even.

Tara sighed. "Fine. I'm leaving it alone."

"Good."

"Really. I'm washing my hands of it."

"Great."

"But—"

Hannah gave her a long look, which Tara ignored. "Just remember, it's more than just music and candles. It's all in the body language." She stood and grinned. "Just in case you're wondering." She laughed when Hannah rolled her eyes. "Hey, don't blame me for prying. Blame Alexi and Michael. I'm not allowed to go back to the lodge until I know what's going on between you and Zach. Michael wants to know if he needs to kill him, and Alexi wants to know if she's cleaning toilets for the summer."

Hannah groaned, and still carrying the pies, she moved through the shop. "We've been out of high school for years, you know."

"I know." Tara smiled. "We really do love you, Hannah."

Well, darned if that didn't effectively defuse any resentment at the unwelcome probing. "Then wait here like a good girl. Answer the phones and feed the guests until I get back."

"Well then, hurry. I'm not done questioning you. I have a feeling whatever it is, it's good. Oh, and don't forget the condom. Michael said to remind you."

"Gee, thanks." Hannah squinted as she entered the bright sunshine, relieved to be out of the spotlight, if only for a moment. She smiled at the Hornsbys, who were kissing madly beneath an oak tree. They were a honeymooning couple who'd been at the inn all week, though they'd rarely surfaced from their room.

They waved at her, and kept on kissing.

She didn't blame them. It was a glorious day. A kissing sort of day. The fog had burned off early, leaving the sun high above, providing a much welcome warmth after their unusually chilly spring.

The lodge looked welcoming. In front of her was the colorful garden she considered a labor of love. Off to her right, the waves hit the shore. Helpless to stop herself from searching out Zach, she was disappointed to find both the beach and the water devoid of any surfers.

Shifting the pies carefully in her hands, she craned her neck, but it was no use. He was gone.

Just as well. Her nerves couldn't take another encounter with him so soon, especially when she had no idea what to say to him.

Sorry I tried to jump your bones last night. It's just that I'm tired of being a virgin, you see, tired of wondering, hoping, dreaming.

So intent was she on her thoughts—and keeping one eye peeled on the shoreline—that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

"Hannah."

With a startled gasp, she whirled quickly. She couldn't help it—the deep and unbearably familiar voice unsettled both her pulse, and then unfortunately, her balance.

Pies sailed high in the air.

Hannah had time to let out a scream of frustration before they came back down … directly on her. With a sharply indrawn breath—they were ice-cold!—she lifted her head, and glared at Zach.

Strawberries dripped off her chin, her shoulders, her chest. The gooey sauce ran down her dress, sticking to her skin, which was now clammy. Crust crumpled and hit the ground, along with the two tins that had been holding the pies together.

"What a mess!" Dropping to her knees, she stared in dismay at the disaster.

Zach set down his surfboard, then hit his knees too. "Let me help."

"You've done enough!"

He gathered the tins. Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her seriously. "I'm sorry." But his mouth curved suspiciously.

"Yeah, you look real sorry." Actually he looked … as mouthwateringly good as the strawberry pies smelled. He was still wet from the ocean, his wide shoulders and smooth, sleek chest gleamed. His exhaustion seemed to have vanished, his eyes sparkled with life, and his mouth… Lord, that mouth. It was curved softly, reminding her of all she wanted.

It's all in the body language,
Tara had said.

So she gave that a shot, softening her expression, leaning in a little, giving him the best come-hither look she could manage.

"I
am
sorry," he said in a voice suddenly hushed with … with that
thing
that existed between them. His smile scrambled her brain. "Hannah, you're looking at me in that way, that way that makes me lose my train of thought. Stop it."

"I can't. Maybe
you'd
better stop looking at me."

"I can't. Let me…
"
And he leaned close, close enough that she could see his eyes darken, close enough to smell the outdoorsy, oceany, male scent of him.

Their knees touched, and Hannah thought she shouldn't feel weak just being in such close confines with him.

But then he did something that made her far weaker. "I have to taste you," he whispered. "Have to." He dipped his head and dragged his hot, open mouth over her bare shoulder, lapping at some of the strawberry goo there.

"Oh, my," she heard herself whisper as her body reacted by trembling. It
was
in the body language! Hallelujah! She'd gotten it right!

He did it again, took another little nip, working his way across her collarbone to her other shoulder, before backtracking, lingering at the base of her throat, and Hannah could have sworn her eyes crossed with lust.

If he kept it up, she would dissolve into a little puddle of longing at his feet. "Zach—"

"Tell me this is stupid."

"This is stupid. Don't you dare stop."

A laugh escaped him, one that sounded more like a groan. His mouth took hers then, swallowing whatever she might have found the energy to say, but it was no longer important, nothing was except for their connection. It wasn't a demanding kiss, but slow and deep and leisurely, which was even more arousing.

The tins clattered to the ground as he slid his hands around her.

In response, she looped her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies flush to each other. She stuck to him immediately, the strawberry sauce acting like adhesive between her dress and his bare torso, and when he settled himself in the notch at the top of her thighs, she rocked to him, eliciting a deep-throated groan that vibrated from his chest to hers.

He rocked back, harder now, and she nearly wept at the need coursing through her. She lost herself in his taste and feel, just absolutely, completely lost herself. Lean, hard muscles shifted beneath her hands as she streaked them over his taut back, his shoulders, anything she could reach.

And from far, far away came the sound of heels on the path, then a very satisfied laugh.

Tara.

"I knew it," she chortled with glee, clapping her hands together. "I just knew it."